


Bumps in the Road

by Semebay



Series: The Toaster Who Shot Me [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson gave up on dreams of normal a long time ago. He'd accepted that he was a SHIELD agent, that normal wasn't in the cards. He hadn't realized that even SHIELD's special version of "normal" was never going to be his reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bumps in the Road

“We need to talk about this.”

 

Clint looks up from where he’s cleaning his bow. He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows, trying to get a confused-but-interested expression across, as though the sound of the rag on carbon fiber was too loud for him to get a good read.

 

Coulson, of course, doesn’t fall for it, because Coulson is too smart for his own good and _really_ Clint needs to reconsider who he lies to. And how. And just lying in general, because he is _so_ bad at it. Coulson points wordlessly, and Clint cranes his neck to see over the back of the couch.

 

Stark’s toaster is sitting on a dog bed under an end table, dead to the world, its cord twitching like a sleeping dog’s tail. It looks almost serene, and Clint wants to take a picture and run it through Instagram a few times to make it look old and antique-y. He’s pretty sure it’d look pretty up in a frame over the bed.

 

Coulson clears his throat and narrows his eyes before Clint can try out his “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about” expression again.

 

“It called me Mother,” Coulson says before Clint embarrasses them both with made up excuses. “Why is Stark’s toaster in our apartment, why does it have a bed, and why is it calling me “mother”?”

 

Clint laughs. He attempts to cram his fist in his mouth to smother the sound, but it’s already too late. Coulson’s expression has gone a shade unseen since Bangladesh, and there’s a vein above his left eye that’s starting to throb just enough to be noticeable.

 

“Barton,” Coulson snaps, and Clint stops. Coulson saves “Barton” for the bedroom and for debriefings, and there’s not a bed in sight to save him. “Why is Stark’s _toaster_ ,” Coulson’s voice goes a little shrill when he gets to the _r_ , “in our _living room_?”

 

“Because Steve’s neglecting it.”

 

The vein stops throbbing, and instead Coulson is staring at Clint like he just set off a paint bomb in their living room (again). Clint rolls his eyes, sure he’ll pay for it later, and shrugs.

 

“Steve won’t touch the toaster anymore, and it’s feeling a little neglected. So it came here.”

 

Coulson starts a few different sentences, but never gets past the first word. Clint waits until Coulson drops down on the couch before he sets his bow on the coffee table, then waits for Coulson to figure out his next move. Clint starts to speak, to offer some kind of sentence-finding support, but Coulson raises a single finger and Clint presses his lips together and waits.

 

“Stark’s toaster is in our apartment because,” and Coulson pauses there, probably because he’s coming to terms with the fact that he will never have the normal life of a SHIELD agent, “Steve broke up with it?”

 

“I offered it ice cream.” Clint grins like it’s a joke, but he really did offer it ice cream, and Coulson is going to be so mad when he realizes that there’s a black spot on the ceiling and two of the dining room chairs are gone.

 

“I was unaware that Stark’s toaster was in a relationship with Captain America,” Coulson says slowly, as if speed and enunciation will make it all make sense.

 

“So was Steve,” Clint offers. “Rumor has it Steve has a new toaster.”

 

Coulson doesn’t have a response, but the toaster shrieks suddenly, and Clint ducks when a piece of black toast shoots past his head like a rocket. It pings off the ceiling fan, hits the floor and shatters like fine china, crumbs spreading across the carpet like a morbid blood splatter. Coulson doesn’t move, just stares, and then the toaster is rounding the couch clumsily, crashing into the table and the couch while awkwardly hopping front-to-back like a rocking horse without rockers. It tips precariously and spills crumbs onto the floor and Coulson shuts his eyes.

 

“Father!” the toaster cries, sounding a lot like Zordon without the personality (shut up, there’s a lot of downtime between missions), and Coulson flinches.

 

Clint leans down and picks up the toaster, holding it awkwardly in his arms like a boxy baby, and he pets the slots at the top.

 

“It’s okay, little guy,” Clint croons, and Coulson starts to shake a little. “You’re still special. Lots specialer than that toaster slut that Steve keeps in his closet.” The toaster whines loudly and shivers, and Clint pulls its cord up on the couch. “It’ll all be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

 

“This raises so many more questions than it,” Coulson starts, voice low, “no, actually, this doesn’t answer any questions.” He opens his eyes and stares at Clint. “How did it even get here? Stark Tower is thirty blocks away.”

 

Clint doesn’t blink as he slowly raises his flattened hand and makes hopping motions with it. Coulson covers his face with his own hands and slumps back into the cushion.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Looking to get back into writing and taking prompts @ [tumblr](http://magicbayleaf.tumblr.com/ask) if anyone is interested


End file.
